Lisa opened the last box in the once-crowded store room. She didn’t know what was in the box, but she couldn’t believe she was finally down to the last one. There must be some kind of celebration she should do after she finished this one. She’d been working steadily for two months to completely deal with all the stuff in this room, and now, she was about to be done with it.

Paper. Well. She knew there was a lot of paper. She saved stuff. She couldn’t believe how much stuff, but she’d thrown away or rehomed most of it so far. This box would be the last of it, and she’d not have to worry. It felt like it was just in time, too. Something tugged at the edges of her mind. It seemed like it should be important, but she couldn’t place it. She began sorting the papers. Old utility bill stubs. Interesting to look at. Fifteen dollars a month for water. She’d once balked at buying a place because the water bill was thirty dollars a month. Now, she was paying one hundred and eighty. Funny how things changed in that department. She placed the old bill stubs in the trash.

Next she found old performance evaluations from work. Pausing to glance at them, she realized she didn’t recognize herself — sometimes those evaluations had gotten a little carried away, and she’d forgotten that person had been her boss. George Dinglesong. He’d been something. One of the many she’d learned to use as non-examples in leadership. She ran these through the shredder. They were from the days when your identification number had been on everything. Not that is really mattered anymore. The national database had been hacked into so many times, your identity wasn’t really yours anymore.

The next layer of papers? Correspondence. Glancing at return addresses, she realized there were so many people she had no recollection of. She opened one letter, read it, and still didn’t have the slightest inkling who the person was. Trash. Another letter. Something tugged at the corners of her memory. Oh, yes. She’d worked a part time job with this person, and she’d had a kid out of wedlock (what a quaint term — did anyone use it anymore?) and fought to get the father to pay child support. And won. That kid would be an adult and probably a grandfather now. Funny. No reason to hang onto this correspondence, though. Into the trash. Next in the pile was a packet. She smiled. Letters and cards from family. She read a few. These she kept.

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